My pursuit for Jenga...and now, Guido's.

This blog is about a few events that occurred between the week of December 6th to the 11th.

Let me bring you back to last Tuesday. You can probably guess that I spent the night at my favorite weekly hangout…Bingo!

It was the week after my regretful defeat, and I set out to attend bingo not to win, but to drown my sorrows in copious amounts of beer. We grabbed our table and without even asking for anything, our waiter promptly brought us over a coke and a grasshopper. We looked at him with this “OMG! WE HAVE A USUAL” face. It was an incredible moment. I’ve always wanted to be a usual patron somewhere with a usual drink…and now I’m that person!

Bingo proceeded as usual, however, this week I wasn’t as focused as I usual am…mostly because ever time I looked up at the prize shelf, there was no Jenga in sight. Then, in round 2, after a few too many, I looked down at my bingo card and then looked at Kate, and in great confusion said, “hrmm, I think I have a bingo?!!”.

I got a fucking bingo, and guess what, there was no beautiful man yelling bingo at the exact same time. There was no rock paper scissors. No ugly defeat. I’d won. But this is just my fucking luck; I’m a solid winner and the only prize I wanted was ripped away from me in a terrible blood bath. I scanned the prizes for a while and finally decided on Hungry Hungry Hippo’s, which I guess is a pretty good prize in itself... still not Jenga, but what can ya do. Later on in the night, Steve (the host), told me that if he found Jenga again that he would just give it to me as a gift so I would no longer need to suffer through the ups an downs of bingo play. I was extremely flattered but in all honest, as brutal as my luck seems to be, my quest for Jenga is just too fun to give up and accept as a gift.

The night had many ridiculous moments and ended in a game of 3 am scrabble with new friends. Needless to say, it was one of the best nights ever.

Fast forward to Thursday night.
My staff party.
All I can say about this is that I work with some of the most hilarious and remarkable people in the world. We drank our way through quite a few bottles of wine, and then as the party died down, the mission began.

So you’re probably curious as to what this “mission” is?! Or you’re not…but I’m going to tell you anyways…

I want to date a Guido.

No don’t get your panties all up in a knot! Let me explain!

After watching Jersey Shore, I was struck with the idea about how unbelievably funny it would be to date a Guido for 2 weeks. If you haven’t seen Jersey Shore, let me just provide you with a peak at the most amazing show currently permeating our airwaves…

(sorry the quality is so shitty, it’s all I could find)




CAN WE PLEASE YELL ABOUT THIS FOR A SECOND!
Holy fuck. I still can't believe this show exists. Whoever created it deserves a fucking trophy. I had no clue that there are actually people out there who are proud to call themselves Guido’s and Guidette’s (the female version of a Guido.) IT’S TOO MUCH! Seriously, I’m out of breath thinking about how exciting this show is.

What I love the most is how excited these people are to parade their Italian heritage. I’m betting that the majority of these Guid’s are 5th generation Italians, and are just clinging to any ounce of Italian heritage they can. This happened in my high school too; there were loads of self-proclaimed wops who thought they fucking owned Italy, when their mothers, uncles, brother was the only Italian person in their family. If anyone’s a fucking Guido up in here, it’s me. I’m as pure bred as they come.

Anyways…back to what I was talking about.

Let’s just look at the men in the show for a second so you can truly understand my reasons for wanting to date one….
















On the left here we’ve got Pauly D. Apparently this guy is 29, even though he looks and acts 15. It takes him 25 minutes to blow out his hair and he brought an entire fucking box of Dippity Doo with him so he’d never run out. Most of my favorite scenes from the show include Pauly D. Like the time when him and JWOWW (yea, you heard me right) were laying on his bed making out, and he just whipped out his peen to show her his cock ring. After that, she was all “shit, I just saw your penis!” She also has a boyfriend. No big thang.

The next night, her and Pauly D were grindin’ in up in da club, when she proceeded to take off his shirt, leave the club with it, and then went home to eat ham. TOO GOOD! So bitch is at home substituting processed ham for sex, and Pauly D’s just chillin’ at a club with no shirt.

Next in line is “The Situation” – you have to say this with an extremely harsh Jersey accent in order to get the full effect. He has this nickname because he’s got "abs so ripped up, it's called the situation," his words, not mine. He thinks he’s the absolute shit and says things like, “it’s not a matter of if we’re going to hook up, it’s just a matter of when I decide to”. He said that about a roommate named Sammi who made out with him (at a club of course) and then proceed to make out with another guy in the house that same night. Poor Situation, I guess yo’ killa abs just weren’t hot enough for her.

The last two are Ronnie and Vinnie. Neither really do anything of much importance, however, in the first episode they showed Vinnie’s Mom cutting his turkey for him. Precious.

So back to my mission. Let’s just pretend I managed to give out my number to a “juiced up, tanned Guid” – as one of the female characters likes to call them. He’d then take me on a date…probably to a club where we’d grind and he’d try to get in my pants. But I’d be a prude and the next time we’d maybe go out to a lounge for Pina Colada’s. The stories would be fucking endless. Could you imagine the shit they’d say? And the amount of Ed Hardy they’d wear!? It would be out of this world.

It’s officially my new life goal. I’m going to meet, date, and dump a Guido. I'll have to end it prior to actually having sex with them, because that would just be too far…and I’d imagine that during the act they’d pout their lips, flex their muscles and grunt in the most displeasing manner. Not only this, but I imagine they'd probably say shit like “YAAAAA GIRL, check out my cock piercing…I know you wanna choke on that!”

BLAGHHHHH!!!!

ANYWAYS! Night one of my mission to date a Guido didn’t really go as planned. We hit up the Roadhouse and luckily there were plenty in sight, however, I began to quiver and dry heave anytime one approached us and attempted to grind up on me. The second night of the mission happened in Banff, but I was distracted by a very skinny Aussie with ironic facial hair...so I didn't really get an opportunity... One day though, I’ll get the courage to dry hump a Guid in da club, and subsequently force a date to happen. And then hopefully I’ll be able to write a blog entitled “The Time I Dated A Guido.” It's going to be superb.

My quest for Jenga...

Every Tuesday night, me and my friend head out to challenge out hearts and minds and play us some bingo... well, “punk rock bingo” as it is officially called. Our first time there I was scanning the selection of prizes and came across what I was certain was about to be the best thing I could ever own…Jenga.

And I’ll bet you’re wondering, “why Jenga, Nicole?” Well I’m so glad you asked! See, I have a tremor in my hands. They shake involuntarily at most given times, and I can neither help it nor stop it. The shaking is heightened with stress and nerves, and surprisingly diminishes when I consume alcohol. So let me just set the stage for you. Let’s pretend that you and I are playing a game of Jenga. It takes a finite skill and persition to pull out those tiny block things without knocking the whole fucking thing down. Now imaging me, with an incredibly unstable hand venturing toward the tower to attempt to pull out a Jenga piece. You see it? That’s a major fucking fail. I would never win. And even if I drank to prevent my tremor, that would no longer help me because I’d be so distracted by being intoxicated that I’d probably forget what was happening or pass out face first onto the game.

Now I’m sure you’re thinking that this is fucking ridiculous…Why own a game you’d never win? Well, because it would be hilarious. I’d never have to be competitive because I would just lose. And then anyone playing with me would feel so good about themselves because they would always beat me! All I can see is a wonderful, win-win situation.

Anyways, we’re getting off topic here…

Earlier this week, we ventured out once again to play us some bingo. I usually walk in the bar with high hopes of taking home the big prize, however, 100% of the time I leave with a frown on my face, and ache in my heart and no Jenga in my hands. We went up to purchase our bingo cards and bantered a bit with the host, we’ll call him Steve, who is also aware of my insane quest for a game I’ll never win. We grabbed our dobbers and sat down... If only I knew then how the night was about to unfold.

We began round 1…
No luck.
No bingo.
Still no Jenga…

We were feeling a little discouraged at this point, like we do every week, but figured we’d stick around for another round, because, well, we just had to.

On to round 2…

It’s black out bingo round. If you’re not familiar, you basically have to dobber every last one of the numbers in your square in order to win.

I’m one number away from blacking out all my squares….

Because I’m an extreme pessimist I though to myself, “here we go again…this will probably just end in disappointment...”

Then Steve yells out, “WHO NEEDS A G FOR THE WIN?”

I look down…

I needed a fucking G…

He then proceeds to yell, “52!!!!!!!!!!!”

I look down.

HOLY MOTHER MARY SON OF GOD!

BINGOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

I stood up and yelled with ever ounce of my being…but I was too fucking slow.

Apparently some dude at the table near us had called bingo a fucking millisecond before me.

Luckily, in fairness, Steve decided that we needed to have a best out of three rock, paper, scissor-off in order to determine who would go home with a big prize, and who would go home with a weeny consolation prize and a shattered ego.

There I was. So. Fucking. Close. I could just taste those fucking little wood blocks…

On a side note, the guy that I was up against was a dreamboat. We’d been commenting on his insane man beauty all night.

That’s not really relevant though....back to the story.

First round of rock-paper-scissors: he wins…

Second round: I take the cake…

It all comes down to this….

Are you ready??

Like, are you seriously fucking ready? Because I’m about to blow your fucking mind.

He picks rock… and I pick fucking scissors.

FUCK!

But just wait, it gets much more devastating. Like we’re talking The Notebook fucking devastating.

There are about 64 prizes to be won at bingo, and what fucking prize does the pretty man decide to take???

FUCKING JENGA!!

It was slow motion... I yelped out and had to use all my strength to keep me from falling to the ground in desperation...

“NOOOOOOO, please don’t take Jenga!!!” It was like I’d lost a loved one in battle.

This would go down as one of the top 14 saddest moments in my entire life.

After I got off stage I ran up to the beautiful man and told him how he’d just ruined my entire life, and how Jenga had been the bane of my existence for a solid 7 weeks. I even went on to tell him about my tremor and the hilarity that would ensue from playing a round with me. He laughed pitifully and then proceeded to tell me that he’d go smoke but maybe he would come back and “we could find a way to trade.” Surrrrrrrrre.

I told him that it was cool, and that he’d won fair and square. He was probably just saying that because he thought I was going to go home and cut myself whilst thinking about him merrily playing Jenga.

And you know what the real kicker is… When we initially sat down at our regular table, we noticed a group of people crowding around a small table beside us, and I, as the wonderfully kind person I am, offered up our section to them as it was bigger and had more room. They were grateful, and I smiled, and said it was cool, but then warned them sternly, “You can have this table, but you CANNOT take Jenga if you win!” They thought I was joking, of course, so they laughed it off and sat down….and guess who was sitting at that table…

DING DING DING!
YOU FUCKING GOT IT… attractive man that stole my dignity and my prize. I fucking warned them! Well, in all fairness I think he came after that incident, so I guess he was kind of innocent…however, it's still an annoying coincidence I needed to point out.

So that’s that. Can you even fucking believe it?? Because I certainly cannot. No one wanted Jenga for the 7 fucking weeks I’d been going, and then when I FINALLY get a goddamn bingo, the one person that wins with me wants the EXACT same prize I want. I’m a seriously unlucky individual.

In consolation I got a gift certificate to Tubby dog…. So I guess I’ll just go and drown my sorrows in some gourmet wieners.

Because I feel like gloating.

**I meant to post this a long time ago, however, you know me – procrastinator extraordinaire – and this is why you’re just seeing it now)**

So, no big deal or anything, but I totally fucking met George Stroumboloupolus…

It was a moderately temperate Friday evening early in November. I was drunk (no surprises there) and at the bar with my friend. We’d been sitting with some serious asshats for the past hour (they were buying us drinks, and I never turn down free shit). But we’d had enough of talking about skank weed and construction work with them and were desperately seeking an escape root. Luckily, asshat number one spilt an entire beer all over us and we stood up abruptly and pulled out a snarky “thanks a lot!” and stormed off to the washroom to ring the beer out from our clothes (I was not about to waste that free beer I’d just earned). But just as we were making our way through the crowd, he appeared…












His man beauty was overpowering. I don’t think I’ve been that excited about something since I saw Hanson live in concert.

I knew what I had to do.

Luckily, I was just drunk enough to have the courage to approach him and tell him how much I adored his show and vampire good looks. I don’t really remember how the conversation went, but I’m sure I said a lot of wickedly lame things pertaining to his immense awesomeness.

Unfortunately he was a lot shorter than I would’ve suspected, and as I was talking to him I was forced to do my mini squat routine as to not appear so giantess while beside him. This didn’t make me love him less though. He was soooo charming, and funny, and nice, and intelligent, and he spoke to me like I was the only person in the entire room…
Swoooooon.

What a motherfucking dreamboat.

Sadly, people started bombarding him shortly after we began talking, but I guess that’s what you get. I stalked him a little near the end of the night and saw him leave the joint with some blond haired floozy.
Sigh, the bimbo’s always get the prize. (That kinda rhymed!)

I’m over it though. I got to have a nice, respectable conversation with the most attractive man on Canadian Television.

So in other news, I totally got an Iphone! Now for some this may mean little, but for me, it’s like that small girl getting her proverbial pony. Seriously, this thing entertains me, teaches me things, allows me to communicate with people…. I could go on. It’s literally the best companion one could ever have.

You know what my favorite part about it is…You know when you’re out with friends and you’re debating about some random topic and one person is all, “No, it’s this” and the other person is all, “No, it’s that” and then it goes on for hours until someone finally gets home and googles it and text messages the other person and is all “I TOLD YOU SO!” and then the other person feels like total shit?
WELL! Now I can just whip out my iphone and google the FUCK out of that shit and find out right on the spot. No waiting. No wondering. The answers are right before me. Which also means I never have to wait to parade my glory. Now, I know, there are people out there with cellphones that have internet too, but I dare you to compete with me in a google-off. My iphone will find the answer faster than you can say “balls”.

I guess I’ll stop gloating now.
I do want to leave you with one thing… consider it a gift; a gift of great happiness. Why? Because it has a fucking penguin in it! That shops! And wears a penguin backpack!
It’s so fucking cute I could just puke. (That rhymed too! God, I’m brilliant)

So it’s been decided...

I’m an utterly shitty blogger.
It’s been over a month since I’ve posted, and the worst part…I didn’t even realize it. Today while I was reading an inspirational email forward with cute dog pictures… it dawned on me, ”Jesus, I haven’t written anything in weeks!!” And the only reason it dawned on me was because I was thinking about how fucking awful the forward I was reading was, and how I get like 16 a day that all contain pictures of animals and say things like “hang in there” and “when all else fails, just laugh!” Actually, I have no idea why that made me think of my blog… but whatever.

So I guess this is really just a post to notify you, my 3 readers, that for a short time I did forget about you…but then I remembered! Aren’t you thrilled! I do have ideas for posts, but I just need to find the time to actually write them…and when I do you’ll be in for a big treat. Kind of like when you find a kernel of popcorn in your couch cushion. Ahh, life’s little pleasures.

But to tie you over, I’d like to share with you the best email forward I’ve ever received (and I’m serious about getting 16 a day). It made me laugh aloud and nod my head in agreement. And no, it doesn’t contain any pictures of cute animals, but I’ll add one at the end just because I like you…

1. More often than not, when someone is telling me a story all I can think about is that I can't wait for them to finish so that I can tell my own story that's not only better, but also more directly involves me.

2. Nothing sucks more than that moment during an argument when you realize you're wrong.

3. I don't understand the purpose of the line, "I don't need to drink to have fun." Great, no one does. But why start a fire with flint and sticks when they've invented the lighter?

4. Have you ever been walking down the street and realized that you're going in the complete opposite direction of where you are supposed to be going? But instead of just turning a 180 and walking back in the direction from which you came, you have to first do something like check your watch or phone or make a grand arm gesture and mutter to yourself to ensure that no one in the surrounding area thinks you're crazy by randomly switching directions on the sidewalk.

5. That's enough, Nickelback.

6. I totally take back all those times I didn't want to nap when I was younger.

7. The letters T and G are very close to each other on a keyboard. This recently became all too apparent to me and consequently I will never be ending a work email with the phrase "Regards" again.

8. Do you remember when you were a kid, playing Nintendo and it wouldn't work? You take the cartridge out, blow in it and that would magically fix the problem. Every kid in America did that, but how did we all know how to fix the problem? There was no internet or message boards or FAQ's. We just figured it out. Today's kids are soft.

9. There is a great need for sarcasm font.

10. Sometimes, I'll watch a movie that I watched when I was younger and suddenly realize I had no idea what the f&*% was going on when I first saw it.

11. I think everyone has a movie that they love so much, it actually becomes stressful to watch it with other people. I'll end up wasting 90 minutes shiftily glancing around to confirm that everyone's laughing at the right parts, then making sure I laugh just a little bit harder (and a millisecond earlier) to prove that I'm still the only one who really, really gets it.

12. The other night I hit a new low at an open bar. I had already hopped on highway blackout when, inevitably I had to find a bathroom. Eventually I decided it was probably on the other side of the bar so I tried to walk over there, but ran into a guy coming the other way. We played that, Both go left, Both go right game to no avail, so I finally put out my hand to guide myself past and that's is when I realized, yup, that's a mirror I just tried to walk through. And the guy on the other side is me. Even cats can re cognize their own image.

13. How the hell are you supposed to fold a fitted sheet?

14. I would rather try to carry 10 plastic grocery bags in each hand than take 2 trips to bring my groceries in.

15. I think part of a best friend's job should be to immediately clear your computer history if you die.

16. The only time I look forward to a red light is when I'm trying to finish a text.

17. A recent study has shown that playing beer pong contributes to the spread of mono and the flu. Yeah, if you suck at it.

18. Was learning cursive really necessary?

19. Lol has gone from meaning, "laugh out loud" to "I have nothing else to say".

20. I have a hard time deciphering the fine line between boredom and hunger.

21. Answering the same letter three times or more in a row on a Scantron test is absolutely petrifying.

22. My brother's Municipal League baseball team is named the Stepdads. Seeing as none of the guys on the team are actual stepdads, I inquired about the name. He explained, "Cuz we beat you, and you hate us." Classy, bro.

23. Whenever someone says "I'm not book smart, but I'm street smart",all I hear is "I'm not real smart, but I'm imaginary smart".

24. How many times is it appropriate to say "What?" before you just nod and smile because you still didn't hear what they said?

25. I love the sense of camaraderie when an entire line of cars teams up to prevent a dick from cutting in at the front. Stay strong, brothers!

26. Every time I have to spell a word over the phone using 'as in' examples, I will undoubtedly draw a blank and sound like a complete idiot. Today I had to spell my boss's last name to an attorney and said "Yes that's G as in...(10 second lapse)..ummm...Goonies"

27. What would happen if I hired two private investigators to follow each other?

28. While driving yesterday I saw a banana peel in the road and instinctively swerved to avoid it...thanks Mario Kart.

29. MapQuest really needs to start their directions on #5. Pretty sure I know how to get out of my neighborhood.

30. Obituaries would be a lot more interesting if they told you how the person died.

31. I find it hard to believe there are actually people who get in the shower first and THEN turn on the water.

32. Shirts get dirty. Underwear gets dirty. Pants? Pants never get dirty, and you can wear them forever.

33. I can't remember the last time I wasn't at least kind of tired.

34. Bad decisions make good stories

35. Whenever I'm Facebook stalking someone and I find out that their profile is public I feel like a kid on Christmas morning who just got the Red Ryder BB gun that I always wanted. 546 pictures? Don't mind if I do!

36. Is it just me or do high school girls get sluttier & sluttier every year?

37. If Carmen San Diego and Waldo ever got together, their offspring would probably just be completely invisible.

38. Why is it that during an ice-breaker, when the whole room has to go around and say their name and where they are from, I get so incredibly nervous? Like I know my name, I know where I'm from, this shouldn't be a problem....

39. You never know when it will strike, but there comes a moment at work when you've made up your mind that you just aren't doing anything productive for the rest of the day.

40. Can we all just agree to ignore whatever comes after DVDs? I don't want to have to restart my collection.

41. There's no worse feeling than that millisecond you're sure you are going to die after leaning your chair back a little too far.

42. I'm always slightly terrified when I exit out of Word and it asks me if I want to save any changes to my ten page research paper that I swear I did not make any changes to.

43. "Do not machine wash or tumble dry" means I will never wash this ever.

44. I hate being the one with the remote in a room full of people watching TV. There's so much pressure. 'I love this show, but will they judge me if I keep it on? I bet everyone is wishing we weren't watching this. It's only a matter of time before they all get up and leave the room. Will we still be friends after this?'

45. While watching the Olympics, I find myself cheering for China. No, I am not of Chinese descent, but I am fairly certain that when Chinese athletes don't win, they are executed.

46. I hate when I just miss a call by the last ring (Hello? Hello? Damnit!), but when I immediately call back, it rings nine times and goes to voicemail. What'd you do after I didn't answer? Drop the phone and run away?

47. I hate leaving my house confident and looking good and then not seeing anyone of importance the entire day. What a waste.

48. When I meet a new girl, I'm terrified of mentioning something she hasn't already told me but that I have learned from some light internet stalking.

49. I like all of the music in my iTunes, except when it's on shuffle, then I like about one in every fifteen songs in my iTunes.

50. Why is a school zone 20 mph? That seems like the optimal cruising speed for pedophiles...

51. As a driver I hate pedestrians, and as a pedestrian I hate drivers, but no matter what the mode of transportation, I always hate cyclists.

52. Sometimes I'll look down at my watch 3 consecutive times and still not know what time it is.

53. It should probably be called Unplanned Parenthood.

54. I keep some people's phone numbers in my phone just so I know not to answer when they call.

55. I think that if, years down the road when I'm trying to have a kid, I find out that I'm sterile, most of my disappointment will stem from the fact that I was not aware of my condition in college.

56. Even if I knew your social security number, I wouldn't know what do to with it.

57. Even under ideal conditions people have trouble locating their car keys in a pocket, hitting the G-spot, and Pinning the Tail on the Donkey - but I'd bet my ass everyone can find and push the Snooze button from 3 feet away, in about 1.7 seconds, eyes closed, first time every time...

58. My 4-year old son asked me in the car the other day "Dad what would happen if you ran over a ninja?" How the hell do I respond to that?

59. It really pisses me off when I want to read a story on CNN.com and the link takes me to a video instead of text.

60. I wonder if cops ever get pissed off at the fact that everyone they drive behind obeys the speed limit.

61. I think the freezer deserves a light as well.

62. I disagree with Kay Jewelers. I would bet on any given Friday or Saturday night more kisses begin with Miller Lites than Kay.

63. The other night I ordered takeout, and when I looked in the bag, saw they had included four sets of plastic silverware. In other words, someone at the restaurant packed my order, took a second to think about it, and then estimate d that there must be at least four people eating to require such a large amount of food. Too bad I was eating by myself. There's nothing like being made to feel like a fat bastard before dinner.

There's a whole surplus of people out there bred for judgement...

You know when you look at someone and you think to yourself, "I could never be friends with that person." Sure, it's kinda mean, and sure, you shouldn't "judge a book by it's cover," but there are just those people that you can't fucking stand to look at, and you just know that even if they're fucking brilliant and hilarious, being around them would be such a challenge that securing a stable relationship would be utterly impossible. For someone like myself, these people are plentiful in the world. Here's a prime example: men with excessively large muscles.

You know the guys i'm talking about… the "juice monkeys," the steriod swiggers, the "working out is my passion" types - fuck those guys, I hate those guys. I hate that their pecks are bigger than my breasts and I especially hate that their arms can never comfortably hang beside their body because their tricep muscles are too big and won't allow it. And they don't have necks. AND they have cheesy ass tribal tattoos and/or armband that are exposed when they wear their too tight t-shirts with the sleeves ripped off. I look at these people and think to myself how unpleasant it is to be to be in close proximity to them… let alone talk to them…or, god forbid, be friends with them.

Another prime example: this guy…


















Fuck him. Who the fuck does he think he is? Stop pouting your peach gloss coated lips like a little bitch and take out that dumb ass piercing. And what the fuck is with that “I’m looking into the infinite distance and thinking about deep shit” stare.
But just wait...it gets 653 thousand times worse...



OH MY GOD. He wrote a song a Carrera...and compared it to a hot girl! What fucking brilliance. If I were that chick I'd jump the fuck out of that car. Dying would be a much better option then listening to him pronounce "mirror" as "mayor." Fuck you, Karl Wolf, I hope someone abruptly kicks you in the face.

A few things that annoyed me today: A list.

1) When girls try to dress up lulu lemon pants. Seriously, just because you paired them with a collared shirt and high heels doesn't make them look any less like workout pants. And please do not even give me the "but they're SO comfy, girlfriend" spiel. NO! That does not justify it. You look silly.

2) Female radio DJ's. They ALWAYS alter their voice to try and make it sound sexier/cuter/more annoying. What's the deal? Just talk how you normally would. The truth is, they're probably unattractive and think that by altering their voice to sound like a luscious phone operator or a cutesy wootsey school girl, people listening will automatically assume they're hot. Gag me. I hate the radio in general, and then as I'm forced to listen to it at work, I don't want to feel even more aggrivated by their annoying squeels and attempts at being funny. I should go on the radio and just use my harsh normal man-like voice just to prove a point. Though, then people would probably call in and be all "Girl, you must be flippin hideous!"

3) Those 100 calorie chocolate bars. How unsatisfying are those things?!

Because I really like to complain about life.

You know those days that make you sigh and think, "god, life's really annoying sometimes"? Well, today was one of those days...actually, the last two days have been one of those days.

Let me go back.

This story begins on Wednesday morning. I woke up, severely late, only to discover that I had two incredibly itchy and enormous mosquito bites. I was pretty certain I’d contracted them while at an outdoor work staff meeting/”team building” the day prior, but I had no time to ponder the situation and continued drying my hair.

Part way through the day, as I was sitting at my desk when the itching had become unbearable and I turned to my co-worker and said, “Jesus, I have this mosquito bite that is so fucking itchy!!!” I then proceeded to pull down part of my pants (it’s on my hip) to show her. Alas, the mosquito bite was no longer a bite, but more of a giant tennis ball like mass of bright reddness. Her response, “holy shit! maybe you should take some benadryl or something”
So I did. And then I was stoned. I’m not even kidding you. Not sure how or why it happened, but I went into this daze and was staring into the distance for a good 45 minutes until I finally realized I was utterly stoned and should probably go home, sleep it off and then head to the doctors...

And that’s what I did. But instead of going to the doctors, I slept for 5 hours. Seriously, that benedryl was fucked up! I figured though that I could just put it off and find some time today to go.
WRONG!
Fast forward to this morning. I get to work (late yet again) and am asked to pull up stats from this fucking excel database thing that I have no idea how to even open. My boss indicates to me that it should be my “number one priority” – which basically means, “do it…or else!” So I did it. I put aside lunch AND my daily sudoku for it. Now that’s fucking dedication.
Finally, after I drudged away for a solid 9 hours, I finished this wonderful/potentially inaccurate stats page and decided it was time I see a doctor. With it being way past regular doctor hours, my only option was the urgent care clinic.
After waiting for 2 and a half fucking hours, I finally got let into the back where an insanely good looking male nurse took my blood pressure and then asked me some general questions about allergies and so on, until he nonchalantly posed this little doozy… “when was your last bowel movement?”
I don’t think words can even begin to describe how insanely awkward I became at that very moment. And what was even more awkward was that the hawt male nurse just sat there with this, “seriously woman, are you 5?!” look on his face.
I was humiliated, and all I could think of was that now this beautiful man would never want to sleep with me because he knows when I last pooped.

Finally, after waiting for 3 hours, the doctor came in and told me that I’m probably just having a reaction to a bug bite.
WELL NO SHIT!
He also suggested that I take some benadryl and if that doesn’t help, to come back again.
Ugh... no thank you! I’d rather spiders lay eggs in my wound than be asked about my bowel movements again.

And now I’m here... eating boiled eggs and popcorn for dinner. I had a laughing cow cheese too, but I accidentally sat on it.

Sigh, life.

Old Balls.

As you probably already know, I went to see Blink 182 a little while ago and even though I was initially school-girl excited about the whole experience, it definitely didn’t end up being as stellar as I had originally hoped.

For the weeks leading up to the show, me and my friend would sit on the phone or email whilst at work and talk about how excited we were to re-live all our pre-teen fantasies. Instead, when we actually arrived at the show it just reminded us that we’re old balls. And that going to "punk rock" shows is difficult and exhausting. Especially on a week-night.

The second we got there we realized we’d made a terrible mistake by purchasing floor tickets. Seriously though, who did we think we were!? 16-year-olds with stamina?! No. We don’t like standing, nor do we appreciate being jammed into a massive clusterfuck of perspiring yougins jumping up and down. In the day that might’ve been considered “fun,” but my definition of said word has changed drastically. Now, “fun” is a bag of Hawkins Cheezies and an episode of 30 rock.

Anyways, we decided it would be best to abandon our tickets and see if we could find us some seats so we could comfortably enjoy the show from a safe distance.

The beginning of the night sounded a little like this:

"My back really hurts."
“I'm tired.”
“Work was really stressful today.”
“I don't think I want to be surrounded by sweaty pop punkers that are undoubtedly going to jump up and down for the entire show. I just don't have the stamina like I used to.”
“Me neither.”
“Should we try and find some naive under age fan that is desperately wanting to experience what it's like to be in a mosh pit and then suggest that they pay us an increased ticket price in exchange for their tickets?”
"Yes. Yes we should. Then I can sit and enjoy a malt and watch all the crazy floor people steadily acquire other peoples sweat whilst jumping franticly."
"This plan is excellent."

Luckily, we stumbled upon a couple of innocent looking boys with club seats just dying for their chance to partake in the pop-punk front line action. We suggested that they give us a bit of money for the trade of the tickets, but when they hesitated we figured that a comfortable seat is enough compensation. We handed them over the tickets and watched their small eyes light up with the kind of excitement that only a first-time mosh pit experience can bring.

At that moment I sighed a bit internally and wished that I hadn’t turned into a business-casual-wearing, in-bed-at-9 working woman - but I figure this is just one of those moments in life where you realize that you just need to move on, because some things are only meant to be enjoyed when you’re 16. This is with the exclusion of teen-movies and television dramas. They may be made for 16 year olds, but they are meant to be enjoyed by any age. Don't let anyone tell you differently.

Regardless, the show was still fun; I danced a little in my seat, ate a large vanilla/chocolate swirl malt and judged people. Now that's my idea of a good time!

I'm a horrible, horrible blogger.

I realized that I’ve become completely pathetic when it comes to actually posting, but the truth is, life is just too tiring. I know what you’re thinking, "excuses Nicole, you're full of fucking excuses" - well, yes, this might be true, but I really am exhausted all the time. Ask my friends. I never go out anymore because I have the bed time of an 85 year old woman. If I'm not in bed by my regular time, I can usually be found sitting on my couch, bobbing my head lazily, and often times falling asleep sitting up. It’s really quite pathetic.


So I'll bet you're super curious as to what else is going on in my life?

Ya, i knew it...

Not to burst all your hopes and dreams, but if I’m not sleeping or working I can generally be found sitting on my couch watching 30 rock. Or bitching about working full time and life. I really like to bitch about life. The odd time i'll go outside, but I usually prefer to stay indoors. The sun and heat can become really overwhelming.

But I’ve decided that it’s finally time for me to stop being so lame! I’m going to start doing things! And I figure when I actually leave my house and engage in normal social activities, I’ll begin to have things to write about again! And that means more blogs! So if I’ve not already lost my entire readership, I’m here to let you know that I’m back, and I promise that I will do my very best to marginally entertain you on a semi-regular basis.

I'm breakin' out the studded belt...

A few days ago, as I was sitting on the couch wasting away and watching irrelevant programming, I stumbled across a little piece of news that got me way more excited than I think it should’ve. Here’s how my excitement went…

Much music: “So it looks like Blink-182 are coming to Canada for their reunion tour”
Me: “what! WHAT! OMG! OMG! PLEASE COME TO CALGARY!!!!”
Much music: “They’ll be playing shows in Vancouver, Calgary…”
Me: “SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

*pick up phone

Me: “Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!”
Friend: “What?!”
Me: “BLINK ARE COMING!”
Friend: “WWWWWHAT!!! We are soooo breaking out our studded belts and punk rock girl t-shirts!”

And that’s exactly what I plan on doing. Because yes folks, I have a Blink 182 shirt that says, and I quote, “punk rock girl.” And it’s written in pink. And has a nautical star.
















Sometimes I wonder how I have friends…

That’s not the point though. I’m flippin excited! The last time I saw them was, like, the 3rd best day of my adolescent life.

I have a story, and it’s filled with drug abuse, lost teeth, and titties.

A couple weekends ago, Julia and I went to Fernie for a night to snowboard, drink and, well…that’s all. We ended up meeting a group of engineers there that were occupying at least 8 rooms to either side of ours. They gave us free beer, and although it was PBR, we forgave them for their incessant ruckus. Our new friends decided to take a journey into the town of Fernie and hit up one of the local bars. I was a bit sceptical at first, but I’m now so glad that I decided to take that journey because at that bar I met the most ridiculous woman ever.

Her name was Sharon. She was probably in her mid-30s and she loved, loved, LOVED to flash her titties about. This is actually how we met Sharon. I’m not really sure how it all came to be, but all I remember hearing was, “OH SHIT, she just flashed us!” For some reason Sharon ended up sitting at our table and I knew right then that she was the type of person great episodes of intervention were made of.

















“My name is Sharon. S-H-A-R-O-N. And I’m an addict.”


I then became so infatuated with getting to know what Sharon was all about that I risked my safety and hygiene to do so.

Me: “Are you from Fernie, Sharon?”
Sharon: “Can I tell you ssssomething? I had to get away. I had to get away from all the dope, so now I’m here and I’m fucking working at boston pizza. SssssHhhh! Don’t tell anyone! And I use to live in the motel, but fucking tonight, I’m just going to sleep in a bush!”

She also pulled out the classic addicts line, “this is the first time I’ve been fucked up in months, is that too much to ask?! To get drunk just this once?!”

Right Sharon. Stop kidding yourself; you’ve been drunk since birth.

This was it. Sharon was going to be the story of the fucking night and I knew it. It was one of those, “this is SO going in my blog!” moments… which meant I had to find out more. Luckily, she thought I was “sincere and beautiful” so she freely disclosed the depths of her personal struggles to me. She told me about where she grew up, her time on the streets, her time in jail, and her gang involvement. She was a goddamn train wreck and I was front and fucking centre to watch the show. After unveiling all her deepest secrets and then trying desperately to kiss me, she moved forward over my lap and this is when it happened…the climax of the story…HER FUCKING TOOTH FELL OUT. And can you guess where it landed. That’s right! ON MY FUCKING LAP! I didn’t really get what was going on, but in the haze I looked up at Sharon with one tooth missing and she chuckled, picked up her fallen tooth and exclaimed, “HARHAR! My tooth fell OUT!” She then proceeded to jam it back it to her gums like nothing ever happened.

Fucking brilliant.

After the tooth incident, things proceeded to go downhill for Sharon… but uphill for my entertainment. She thought it necessary to open her top and flash her boobs yet again. (Below is a brilliant photo taken RIGHT after she exposed herself.)














This time, however, she wasn’t so discrete. The bouncer of the bar came over in a fiery rage and told her she was kicked out. This did not please Sharon. She started yelling and then threw up her leg in a rage, stating to me that she was going to “round house kick this fucker to the face.”

Man, I couldn’t make this up if I tried.

The bouncer tried everything to get her to leave but she was a crazy, angry bitch that just wouldn’t give in. Sharon was right pissed by this time and you could see her prison learnt anger building. She asked me if she looked like she was controlling her anger well. Clearly she wasn’t, but to avoid getting round house kicked in the face by a meth addict, I suggested to her that that she was definitely controlling it, and quite well in fact.

After about 8 minutes of this back and forth unbearable tension, Sharon finally left the bar.

Later that night I stopped the bouncer and asked him what had happened to the beloved Sharon, and with an obvious disgust he proclaimed, “I sent her to jail!”

Poor Sharon. The cycle continues. And even though she probably doesn’t remember a thing from that night, I do, and I plan on holding it with me forever. But really, how often can you say that a meth addict lost her rotting tooth in your lap???

Yea, that’s what I thought.

Congrats on the nuptials

So you all probably know by now that I have a serious girl crush on Mandy Moore. Don’t ask me why, because I can give you no definitive answer. I just think she’s awesome. So it came to my attention while reading Jezebel the other day that she got married! And to whom you’re wondering?

RYAN FUCKING ADAMS!

Man! She’s just the luckiest bitch in the whole world! I’ll bet he sings her his pretty acoustic version of Wonderwall all the time.

Sigh.

Where’s my Ryan Adams?


















As a sidenote. I LOVE that she's taller than him. Even with flats on!

Managing your disappointment and surviving the post-graduate blues.

So I’m thinking I should probably write a self-help book. I had an idea for one a couple years ago, but I never really went through with it. It was intended to be more of a pessimistic view to life. For example, my first helpful tip was going to be “expect nothing out of situations and you’ll never be disappointed!” Sure, it sounds horribly depressing, but trust me, it’s not! Lets look at a couple examples.

For one: first dates. If you go into a first date expecting absolutely noting out of it, then even if it’s just moderately fun, you won’t be disappointed. Now, if you expect for it to go really well and are really optimistic about it, and it turns out to be, once again, only moderately fun, well, then you’re going to be really disappointed.

Another example: job interviews. You can’t go in expecting you’re going to get the job because then if you don’t you’re going to be, I repeat, disappointed! (Are we seeing a trend here?) Rather, if you go in expecting nothing, you’ll walk away unaffected. Now, I’m not telling you to expect the worst out of situations...I’m merely suggesting that you learn to expect nothing.

Obviously this is not a helpful tip for the majority of people who are “glass half full” type folk. But for people like me, who like to avoid the perils of disappointment, it’s a rule I try to live by.

But this is not what this post was destined to be about.

I decided yesterday I’d write a self-help book for lost university graduates. I even researched on Amazon to see if there were already a lot of these books, but to my surprise, it appears as though all the self-help books directed at my peer group are about how to succeed fiscally post-convocation. None of them were about how to deal with the sheer boredom you face without term papers and classes, or about just how lost you feel in the real world.

Though, I’m thinking I’m going to have to get myself through these post-graduate blues before I start throwing out advice to other sore losers. Though! I'm on the right track because come April 6th, I'm going to be officially employed at a 9 to 5 job, business casual clothes and all!

Though, if I started writing the book right now, chapter one would be still be something along the lines of:

“Save yourself the grief and disappointment…JUST FUCKING STAY IN SCHOOL!”

Nick fucking Carter is back.

Now lets get a few things straight here. I use to love the Backstreet Boys. Nay, I still love the Backstreet Boys. Nothing warms my heart more than “As Long As You Love Me” – and nothing makes me want bust out some rhymes like “Get Down” – we’re talking about serious classics here people! Nick, AJ, Brian, Howie, and regrettably Kevin, made songs that will forever be the soundtrack to my preteen years. Ah, what a beautiful time that was. Actually, it wasn’t. I was tall, lanky, and dare I say, a bit ugly. Thank god I grew out of that*!

*What I bet you’re now thinking: NO YOU DIDN’T! You’re still ugly! Hahahahah.

There, now you don’t have to think of that clever insult yourself. Look at me, such a fucking Samaritan.

Ok, back to Nick. So times were rough for BSB after the wonderful 90s left their side. They had to resort to having families or trying for solo careers. Nick decided on the latter, though he should have really just started performing on broadway (I hear that’s what all the washed up pop idols are doing these days). But apparently Nick just turned into a drug addict. Oh! What’s that? You didn’t know he was an addict?! Well neither did I, until I stumbled across this little video of him on Ellen:



Oh, and here's a better look at that nice little picture of him in People:











Like what the fuck Nick Carter? Where did those abs come from good sir? Maybe you’d like me to rub some oil on them??

ANYWAYS!

He’s always been the one that was on the verge of being fat, but now he’s kind of hot, and ripped, and I hate myself for having to say that. But really, HE WAS NEVER AN ADDICT! Sure, Aaron Carter was addicted to meth, but in all that time I never once heard that Nick was any kind of addict.

I’m calling a publicity stunt. He got hot and now he needs to play the sympathy card so he’s going to throw out this sad moronic story about his no good parents feeding him beer when he was two. Yea right Nick, you’re such a liar.

Just you wait. Give him 6 months and he’ll have a solo career, a clothing line, and a cameo on Extreme Makeover: Home Addition. Then he’ll yap non-stop about his fucking fake addiction and how it changed his life.

Puke.

What? Another post about your lack of career...

You know what would really spice up my life and my blogs…a really interesting job. Now I’m not talking about being an events planner for Alberta Arts or anything, because albeit that would be an interesting job for me, it wouldn’t be one that conjured stories. I want a job where ridiculous shit happens. Stories so good that when you come home from work and your darling significant other asks you how your day was, you can reply with some fascinating tale about incest and adultery instead of replying with the same old...

“well, omg, Sue was being such a whore today! I asked her to staple these timesheet documents and you know what she said to me... No! SHE SAID NO! WHAT A WHORE!”

But say you didn’t work as a receptionist and you worked instead as a counsellor at a high security prison, or a nurse at an insane asylum. You know how many amazing stories you’d have about people hurling fecal matter, or lunatics thinking they’re the saviour?? The answer is many… you’d have many.

The best part is... people actually want to hear those stories! People really like hearing about fucked up shit. Well, I like hearing about fucked up shit, so I’m assuming that everyone else does too. But really, we wouldn't have the news or 20/20 if people didn’t! People don’t care about Don the accountant that eats too many Snickers and smells potently like steak. They care about the crazy woman that's in love with a fence*, or the dude that killed his whole family while high on meth.

*Actually, there is a woman out there in love with a fence. My friend showed me this documentary the other day called “Married to the Eiffel Tower”, and it was about objectum sexuals which are people who fall in love with objects and have sexual and romantic relationships with them. No, seriously, I’m not even shitting you. This one woman was in love with the Eiffel tower, the Berlin wall, a fence and the golden gate bridge (clearly she’s a polygamist). It was seriously fucked up shit. Seriously.

If you feeling like spending 40 minutes being shocked and insanely disturbed then definitely watch it (the link is below). But I’m warning you: it’s highly unsettling; so don’t yell at me after you’ve watched it and been creeped out beyond all repair.

Seriously messed up shit. Part One.

I love cutting Barbie's hair off and making her a man.

This underemployed deal sucks. I thought that I’d be able to make the most of it and take my time to write my novella or make a film or read a few books, but instead I’ve used my time to watch an unnecessary amount of Felicity and bake… oh god do I ever bake. And then what do I do? I sit down and eat my calorie saturated creations. Which means I’m officially sad. I sit at home eating baked goods and watching 90s dramas about college life. If I keep this up I’m not only going to be a bored underemployed graduate, but I’ll be fat.

Maybe it all just comes down to the fact that I’m incredibly lazy. Most people would take this time and I don’t know, run a marathon or reorganize their house or volunteer, but I use my time to lament about my lack of career, my useless degree and my strange desire to overwork my oven. Seriously though, I’m even too lazy to post regularly on my blog!

And if you’re wondering, yes, I’m applying for jobs. I’m even applying for receptionist positions, which after working as a receptionist for a summer, I vowed to myself to never sink that low again. I really don’t want to be hired to be the bimbo at the front desk who wears a headset and answers the phone in a chipper, high pitched, “GOOD MORNING! (insert lame company name here). HOW MAY I DIRECT YOUR CALL?...(pause)...ONE MOMENT PLEASE!!!"

God. I'm going to end up turning into one of these hussies...









"Look at my fantastic computer skills and the ficus behind me! It's also my job to water it! I'm so blessed in my career. Receptionist work is real rewarding!"











"CALL ME! hehe! Not only am I marginally competant at answering the phone, but I've been know to fellate to get ahead! No pun intended! heheheheh!"

**************

God help me.
(And by God help me I mean... God, find me a job!)

Because I’m bored and underemployed

Aren’t you excited?!* Here’s my “25 random things you might not know (an probably don’t care) about me list”!

*(You don’t actually have to be excited. I’m not really that excited about it. But here it is anyhow. Plus, because of my underemployment I have no funny adventures to speak of, so this will have to fill the void…)

1. I absolutely love Mandy Moore. I own almost every single movie she’s in and I can pretty much quote all of them by heart. It’s pathetic really, and I’m not really sure why I’m so infatuated with her. I think it’s because she’s tall.

2. I use to despise being so tall but now I’ve just learnt to embrace it. I actually think it’s one of my defining characteristics. “HI! I’m Nicole, and I’m tall!”

3. I wear Britney Spears perfume. I love smelling like a twat-exposing, awesome music making tainwreck. (I guess also, 3.5 would be that I really, really like Britney's music.)

4. I’m way too sensitive for my own good. I’ve been known to cry during commercials and Disney movies.

5. I’ve always wanted glasses but sadly I have the most acute vision ever. Like I’m talking shoe-in-entry-to-the-airforce quality vision.

6. I still don’t know my multiplications tables by heart. This embarrasses me more then it probably should.

7. I love the thought of being in love.

8. I have no clue what I want to do/be in life. Mostly, I just want to be happy.

9. I love hanging out with my family. They’re an insanely fun bunch of people.

10. I was popular once in my life. It was in grade 6.

11. I really want to go on the Real World. I'm curious as to which one of the archetypal characters I'd be.

12. I got in a fight once in grade 8. I beat up a boy who was in a grade below me, and who was also smaller than me. The next day his biker gang mom chased me down and threatened to kill me (literally). I said sorry but I have no remorse. Her kid was an asshat.

13. I try to avoid talking about my parents with people I don’t know so they never have the opportunity to ask me about where they are now.

14. I feel sorry for ugly babies and their parents. Mostly because they’re constantly being lied to… “ohhh, what a cute baby!”

15. I actually really enjoyed high school even though I was, by definition, unpopular.

16. I regret ever quitting piano lessons.

17. I lived in the same house for the first 19 years of my life. Leaving it was heartbreaking. Sometimes when I drive past it I’ll sit out in front of it and stare in to try and catch a glimpse of what it looks like now. It’s seriously creepy.

18. When I was a kid I was certain I was going to have 2 kids and name them Austin and Kerry.

19. I’ve recently discovered my love for avocadoes.

20. I tried being a vegetarian once after seeing this really horrific peta video. Unfortunately it only lasted a few weeks. Though, I still don’t eat veal.

21. I judge people I don't know more than I think is ordinary or healthy. I can’t stop though.

22. I lose a retarded amount of hair. When I’m in the shower I have to stick it to the wall to ensure it doesn’t clog the drain. I’m certain I could make at least 10 toupees a year with my rejected strands. Sometimes I wonder how I’m not bald.

23. I want/need a full time job desperately. Not only for the money, but to keep me from wasting away on my couch.

24. I've never seen a single Star Wars or Indiana Jones film. I know it's weird. I'm going to watch Star Wars soon though, I promise!

25. Getting blog comments makes me the happiest girl in the whole world!

The tale of my journey through Europe.

After 3 intense weeks of train catching, sightseeing, partying, and skip-bo playing, I’ve finally returned home from Europe. I had a blast to say the least, and now I’m dreading being home. Though, I can’t imagine spending another week living out of my backpack; it would have undoubtedly killed me. I seriously don’t understand how people backpack around for 6 months. I’d feel so incredibly dirty all the time…in more ways than one! WHAT UP!

Anyways. I’ve decided instead of posting a very long drawn out tale of all the places I saw and things I discovered, I’m going sum up every place I went in one line. Ok. Go.

Paris – I didn’t like it the first time, and it provided me with nothing better this time round. Leaving it was the highlight.

Nice – I want to live here in a marvellous French villa overlooking the ocean with my insanely attractive French lover. We’ll spend our days writing our respective bestsellers, eating cheese and he’ll help me with my French.

Barcelona – Fell in love with this city and drank dehydrating Spanish beer with some amazing new friends. Discovered that Spanish men are ridiculously attractive. I want to bone them all.

(I know what you’re thinking, “Nicole you idiot, you’ve gone WAY over your one line limit!” So you know what, because I can, I’m changing my limit. UNDER 10 LINES. GO.)

Bern – 13 Canadian dollars for a McDonalds meal! PREPOSTEROUS! This is how I’ll forever remember Bern. It was also quaint and relaxing, a great place for skip-bo and German language MTV. (That should totally be their slogan.)

Prague – Wanted to swim naked in the Danube but sadly my dreams of re-enacting my favourite Mandy Moore film were crushed with that dreaded season commonly referred to as winter. So much beauty and cheapness in Prague, I loved it all. Absinth even allowed me to invent a new language called Henglis. And its motto: Bringing last letters to the forefront.

Berlin – I had a fabulous, party hard time in Berlin. We met a handful of really interesting people and even though there was a certain incident with a certain German boy, it was all worth it.

If you’re curious about said incident, it basically boils down to this: 18 year old German boy and an ugly stupid girl are dry humping and making out in a very empty bar (they literally started making out after knowing each other for 6 minutes). Once finished, girl looks terrified and tries to signal her friend. Friend doesn’t respond because friend (who’s equally ugly) is trying to hit on cute British boy. So I, being a fucking good Samaritan, whisper in ugly girls ear “do you need help getting away from this guy.” She then yelled “yes” pleadingly in my ear and proceeded to grab me in the most consuming hug I’ve ever been apart of.

While we were hiding out in the washroom the crazy German burst in and proceeded to scold me in broken English for taking away his woman. Finally, upon returning to the dance floor he then decided it appropriate to call me a “dumb bitch” over and over. I replied with a “listen here fuck head, don’t you ever call me a dumb bitch again! SHE DOESN’T WANT YOU, SHE THINKS YOU’RE AN ASSHAT!” The language barrier really didn’t help because his weak English didn’t understand what I was trying to say. The ugly girl then proceeded to hit on another dude, and, if I could take a wild guess, I’m going to assume she made out with him too and then realized her mistake after it was too late. I’m not really sure why I took all that abuse to save her dumb ass. Ah well, hopefully I’ll get some kind of karma point out of it.

The next night he decided to follow our group around again, but this time he thought it appropriate to hit on me in the creepiest way possible. There was a mutual dislike of the creepy German shared amongst the people in our group, but no one knew how to make him go away. I won’t be surprised if he ends up in jail for rape charges in a few months. Dink.

That explanation turned out to be a lot longer than expected. Sorry.

Besides creepy 18-year-old German rapists, Berlin was, again I say, amazing. Recent and compelling culture and crazy industrial techno clubs that open at 2am...what more do you want!?

Amsterdam – I don’t really know what to say about Amsterdam. I think I thought I’d have more fun there. Lots of pot was smoked though. Oh, and I turned 23. Man, I’m old.

Nottingham – The last leg of my journey. I got to spend time with a far away friend (Sean!) and go to clubs that have not yet realized the sheer stupidity that is carpeting in a bar. I can’t even begin to imagine the volume of vomit absorbed into those babies. UK boys made me squirm; they were unbelievably “fit”… in all respects. Lentils, cheap vodka, Heart, shirtlessness, and poor quality air mattresses will also be remembered.


And that, my friends, brings me to the end of my European tale. I hope you learned nothing and everything at the same time.

I'm 500 meter dashing it to Europe!

After one failed interview attempt, I’ve given up on trying to find a job. That’s right, I’m that lazy. No, really though, they basically told me that my dreams of becoming a journalist are few and far between. First, I have to go back to school for at least another 2 years. That’s right, because 5 and a half weren’t quite good enough. When I finally get out of school I’ll have competed 7 and a half fucking years of post secondary. I COULD’VE BEEN A DOCTOR!

Anyways, then I’ll be right back at the bottom drudging away to find an internship where I’ll make… wait for it…$8.40 an hour. That’s right, I’ll be making $5.60 less than what I make at my current place of employment. AND, the best part, I’d actually have to do shit! Then, upon completion of said internship, I’m not even guaranteed a job! And even if I do get a job I’ll probably only make 30,000 dollars a year. (This is what she told me in the interview, like, how friggen depressing is that?!) Want to know how much that works out to an hour? $15.62.

Boy oh boy! I can’t wait to have 7 and a half years of schooling and 2 degrees behind me and then make a whole 1.62 more than I do right now!

I think I might just become a lifer here at my nice little concierge job. The title sounds pretty cool so why not, right? This way I figure I’ll have time to actually write blogs, and maybe, just maybe, someone will see my little publication here and think “boy, that Nicole’s marginally funny, maybe we’ll pay her to continue writing random, useless personal anecdotes.” Bingo! I’ll have it made.

But because life doesn’t ever do shit like that for me, I’ve decided to run away to Europe. I’ll come back of course, but the whole thing sounds so much crazier if I say I’m running, sprinting even. Oh, I like that. I’m sprinting away to Europe! I’m going to pack my backpack, hop on a transcontinental flight, and fall in love with some buildings. Oh, and I’ll drink. A lot. Because if drunkenly traipsing through Europe can’t set my life in order, I don’t know what will.

Angsty teen love is so hawt.

I'm really worried for teenage girls right now. Their visions of love are probably incredibly skewed and idealistic. Hell my visions of love are skewed and idealistic, but that’s mostly a result of teenage melodramas occupying my formative years. I’m probably just as guilty as they are for absorbing myself in dreams of whirlwind romances and youtube-montage-inspiring love, but I’m apt to think there is something doing even worse things to the fickle teenage girl heart. The culprit you ask? Twilight.

Now, I began reading the book because the hype was inescapable. My 13-year-old niece and my 23-year-old friend couldn't get enough, and the conversations I had with both were almost identical. They both said something along the lines of:

"OMG TWILIGHT IS SOOOOOO GOOD! I LOVE EDWARD! OMG! I WANT AN EDWARD! OMG! YOU HAVE TO READ IT! OMG! I READ ALL FOUR BOOKS IN A WEEK!"

I was convinced; I had to read these books and I was almost certain I was going to fall in love with them. I'd then become deranged, obsessive, and google Robert Pattinson on a daily basis. I'd join every Twilight devoted facebook group and glitter glue "I heart Edward Cullen" onto my faded jean jacket... but I never did.

First off, the book is poorly, poorly written. And not only that but why does she consistently try to interject big frilly words into her shitty writing? It doesn't make the book sound sophisticated. Like how many times can you possibly use the word “incredulous”?! IT’S NOT EVEN A GOOD WORD! Just think how many teen girls are going to start using the word “incredulous” in their papers about polar bears or the West Indies. The answer is many.

I also couldn't deal with how insanely unrealistic their love was. Really Bella? You were completely and irrevocably in love with him after 6 fucking days?! You were willing to DIE for someone you knew for mere months?! God. Give me an effing break.

And then there's Edward. If I could give 13 year olds any advice it would be that no man is like Edward (well maybe there’s 3 or 4, but they’re probably gay). You'll probably never find a ridiculously HAWT god like chiselled rich boy that wants only you and says the most perfect things at the most perfect times. He's not going to spend an entire day asking you questions about yourself, nor will he fall head over heels in love with you in 6 fucking days and tell you so. HE WON'T, OK! Just like he's never going to take you sailing for an entire summer or brush your hair before you have sex by a fireplace. It just won't happen, so give up the dream.

Granted in the book he's what, 100 some years old? So I guess he existed in a time where chivalry meant something, and as much as I want it to still, it doesn't anymore and teenage girls need to understand this. If he were actually a 17-year-old boy he would've already fucked Bella silly.

I will admit right now that a good part of me enjoyed reading it and I definitely found myself consumed by it. It was seductive, yes, and strangely addicting. And now I'm just so involved that I NEED to find out what happens. Will he make her a vampire?! Will they finally bone?! I friggen hope so!

I guess it is a teen romance so I probably shouldn’t spend too much time tearing it apart, but for the love of pete we need to think of the children! THE CHILDREN! I can't have my niece waste 30 years of her life looking for the Edward she might never find.

But hey, what the hell do I know anyway? Maybe the universe will send me an Edward to prove me wrong.

God, let's hope.